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theonemeathead · 3 months

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Sniper x Reader, "Quick Trip"

a sniper x reader smutfic! tw for afab anatomy, the implications of the word 'sheila'. enjoy!

August. One of the hottest months of the year, not to mention it was the hottest day in New Mexico yet. A ceasefire had been called until further notice, the temperature being down right deadly. There was no shade for miles, within the border of the Badlands.

Which just so happened to be where you lived. Your residence, currently, was Teufort's RED base. You had been on base for a couple of years now, you got along with everyone well enough; Some more than others.

Which leads you to the current situation.

You see, Sniper was about to leave on a joint-contract with Scout; Somewhere not nearly as blazing hot. And he was going to be gone for almost two weeks. Clearly, this didn't bode well with you as you stood, with crossed arms, in front of him. You had been begging him all day to let you tag along, but he refused, insistently.

"Mundy, this isn't fair! The AC in the base is broken, you gotta—!"

"I said no, sheila," he cut you off, his tone stern. Of course, you didn't take well to being talked over, especially by your boyfriend. You furrowed your brow, opening your mouth to speak, when you were interrupted, yet again.

"Sick! Ya coming with us?" Ah, Scout. His Boston accent never failed to amuse you, especially with the mischievous glint in his eyes whenever he spoke. He smiled wide, hopeful that you could maybe make the car ride a little less dull. Sniper usually wasn't one for small talk, you were lucky if you could even get a head nod out of him.

"No." "Yes!"

You and Sniper said in unison, he shot you a nasty side eye from behind his aviators. You never understood how Sniper was able to take the heat so easily. He was still wearing his full uniform, boots and all. You had half a mind not to strip naked with how unbearable the temperature was. However, still somewhat sane, decided against that and listened to your better judgement for once.

"Aw, c'mon, Snipes, let 'em tag along! At least they talk," Scout tried to reason, taking your side. Sniper sighed dramatically, grumbling something you couldn't quite understand. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you.

"You're both insufferable. Get in." Your eyes lit up immediately. You had gotten your way, per usual. You clambered into the vehicle, sitting directly in the middle between the other two mercenaries. The black leather seats had definitely seen their fair share of wear and tear, various holes burned from dropped cigarettes, some exposed, yellow foam from the peeling material... But Sniper loved his van. In between your legs was the comically long stick-shift. The handle was slightly chipped away and the design faded from being used so often. Sniper refused to drive anything but manual, because it's 'the right way' he said. With a loud sigh, Sniper had pulled himself in on the driver's side, buckling his seat belt in one swift motion. He clicked the key forward in the ignition, the camper sputtering to life. It was definitely old and in desperate need of repair. The bushman reached forward for the gearshift, his rough hands accidentally brushing the top of your knee as he put the car into 1st gear. Normally, gestures such as this didn't get to you. But, something felt off about it this time.

The first 10 minutes of the car ride turned out to be a bust. Sniper was too focused on the road and Scout was knocked out, cold. The only sound was the distant crackling of the radio and the soft snores from your teammate. You had one exciting moment when Sniper went to shift to 3rd, his hand grazing your leg yet again. You shot him a quick glance, unsure if it was on purpose on not. Sniper wasn't one to tease. You leaned forward with a sigh, slightly turning the dial on the radio to the right. It was set on a classic rock station currently playing a song by Men At Work. You didn't know much about the band, besides the fact Sniper really liked them.

"I love this song." Sniper's gruff voice had come out slightly whispery. You squirmed a little in your seat. Did he always have this affect on you? His Aussie accent had rang through you ears. It was such a simple string of words, but coupled with the fleeting touches, it was... different. About an hour and a half into the car ride, Sniper made the executive decision to stop at a gas station a couple miles up the road. With Scout still asleep, Sniper pulled up to the pump, slamming the breaks to scare the sleeping Bostonion awake. With an abrupt 'oof', Scout was up and ready to fight immediately.

"What—! What is it?! What happened, are we dead??" He yelped, looking around frantically. Scout paused, huffing when he saw that you were all just in park. "You guys are freakin' assholes, I'm gonna go take a leak."

With the 3 of you filing out of Sniper's front seat, you watched as Scout stretched and walked towards the gas station itself. Behind you, Sniper had already unscrewed the gas cap, removing the nozzle and forcing it into the tank. With a simple 'click', diesel fluid immediately began pouring out. Sniper stared at it for a second before abruptly pulling on the handle of the side door of the van, exposing the inside to you. Confused, you looked up at him.

"I told ya I didn't want you coming on this trip, roo." His tone was dark, almost sadistic. Your brows pinned up, a bit of fear beginning to creep through your system. Sniper never took a tone with you. He turned to you, his eyes hidden behind his yellow-tinted aviators. You swallowed thickly, afraid of what was next. "Come here."

You obeyed, stepping closer to him timidly. Immediately, you were manhandled, almost thrown into the back of his camper van. You stared in surprise, yelping as he slammed the door closed behind the both of you. You didn't have time to react before he was on you, his mouth meeting yours. The kiss wasn't pretty or experienced as his teeth clacked against yours, his lips bruising and hungry. He must've been pent up, watching you flaunt yourself around in that low-cut tanktop and those too-short shorts. Just as fast as he had started, he had pulled away. The marksman looked you up and down, as if you were nothing but prey.

"This is the entire reason I didnt want'cha to come, darl'. Just can't keep my bloody hands off ya."

A flash of red was all you saw before you were flipped onto your stomach, Sniper using his long limbs to entangle your arms behind your back. He had you like a wrangled animal, trapped and helpless. He grunted quietly, cursing under his breath as he kept you pinned with one arm. He used his one free hand and made quick work of your bottoms, sliding them, along with your underwear, down to rest just below your ass. You jolted at the feeling of his caloused hand immediately delving into your folds, as if to relax you. A low whimper left your throat, the feeling of his long, thick fingers tracing themselves inside of you, curling to hit the right spot.

You didn't have much time, however, and Sniper knew this. He retracted his fingers, sucking whatever juices was on them off. The clinking of a belt, along with shuffling fabric excited you further. Although you couldn't look back, you could feel him start to guide his long length towards your aching hole. He slid into you, slowly. Sniper wasn't thick per se, but he was definitely long. The head of his cock practically kissed your insides in all the right places. With how wet you were, you didn't need much time to accommodate his size. Snapping his hips into your ass, you could feel every drag of his cock, every pulse and vein. His pace started off bruising, the hand keeping you pinned down began leaving crescent-shaped indents from his fingernails.

There was something primal about this. The heat had burned extra hot that day, and so did your lover, it seemed. He reached his free hand under you, beginning to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Shortly after, you eyes had screwed shut, a line of drool beginning to leak from your mouth. The campervan had rocked slightly with each thrust, your pants and pleas falling upon deaf ears as Sniper used your body. It wasn't long until you tried to warn him, maybe a little too late.

"Mick, I—!" Before you could continue, you had came, your own moan cutting you off. Sniper had a sick, twisted smile, letting go of your arms to focus fully on grabbing your hips. He had started slamming your overstimulated, quivering cunt back into him. It sent shocks through your body, the pleasure quickly turning to pain as it became too much

"Fuck, I love ya, roo. I'm gonna fill ya right up, make ya mine." His thrusts grew erratic, almost sloppy, as a string of curses and praise left his lips as he hilted himself fully inside of you. You heard a small groan, followed by some deep breaths as Sniper came inside of you. With a groan, he pulled out, his cock growing softer by the second. He yanked his pants up, buckling his belt back with extreme ease and skill. There was no time for aftercare. He helped you slide your clothes back up, your trembling thighs sending delight through him. He picked his slouch hat up from off the ground, dusting it off. He held a crooked smile as he placed it atop your head, the hat much too big for you. He had finished pumping gas, screwing the cap back on before leaning against the front of his Chevy.

"Where's Scout?"

"I paid him $20 to piss off somewhere for like half an hour. He'll be back soon, love."

#tf2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x reader #sniper tf2 x reader #sniper tf2 #tf2 fandom

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heich0e · 2 years

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polluted geto suguru, gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna, kamo choso/f!reader word count: 11k warnings: 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, recreational drug use (weed), dubious consent, slight sexual coercion, sex under the influence, gangbang, oral sex (f! and m!receiving), double penetration (oral and vaginal), biting, spitting, creampie, snowballing, pussyjob, fingering, choking, squirting, hair pulling, generally rough sex, implication of non-consensual filming/photography, shotgunning, college!au, no curses!au, slight dumbification, ft a cameo from nanami. a/n: this is a continuation of a drabble i posted ages ago (the first few hundred words of this fic!) feel free to skip that if you've already read it. also these tags alone are sending me to hell. enjoy! never talk to me about this again! crossposted to AO3

"D'ya want some?" Gojo asks up at you, his head in your lap as you tap at the screen of your cellphone idly, leaving a heart on a friend's perfectly filtered photo that only makes you feel a little bitter when you look at it.

"Hm?" you ask, glancing down towards him as he peers up at your face. He has a bag of gummy candy resting on his tummy, and you part your lips and stick your tongue out slightly, asking for one of his sweets.

He lets out a little heh at your expression before popping a pink and blue candy–dusted with a sweet-sour crystalline coating–into your waiting mouth.

"I meant the weed," Gojo answers your earlier hum only once you begin to chew the treat he'd just fed you. He sticks his thumb in his mouth, licking it clean of the tangy sugar that clings to it. "D'ya want some?"

"Oh," you reply, eyes flickering to the other side of Gojo and Geto's dorm room where Choso is seated on the floor, a pillow on his lap and an old DVD case on top of it. He's diligently packing the ground up weed into a rolling paper–little bits of green clinging to the tips of his fingers like the sugar had to Gojo's. "I don't think so."

You really shouldn't.

"Why?" Satoru asks petulantly. He's not smoking either–isn't allowed to since the last time when he threw up in Geto's backpack and ruined his social anthropology textbook–but he seems indignant at your refusal.

Choso's dark eyes flicker up to you too, as though interested in your reply, but when he sees you looking back at him he busies himself with his rolling once more with a streak of pink curling across his cheeks.

He's still a little shy around you.

"Who cares?" Sukuna chimes in from where he's reclining in Gojo's desk chair at the end of the bed, tossing a miniature foam basketball up into the air idly before catching it in one large hand and repeating the motion. "Means more weed for us. Fushiguro said this is good shit when I picked up earlier, too."

"That guy with the scar?" Geto asks, peeking out from under his textbook and Sukuna grunts out some sort of affirmative.

Suguru is sprawled out across his bed directly opposite you now that Nanami left to return to his own room–finding the rest of you too distracting to get anything done during what was supposed to be a study session.

You feel something prod against your lips and look down to see Gojo attempting to feed you another sweet. You let him.

"You didn't answer my question," he singsongs as you bite down on the chewy confection between your teeth.

You push most of the rapidly melting, sticky-sweet candy into your cheek with your tongue to talk around it. "I get really.... annoying when I'm high."

Gojo stares up at you for a moment before pulling himself into a seated position at your side.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

A chuckle from across the room tears your eyes away from Satoru's inquisitive gaze, and towards Sukuna who has suddenly stopped tossing the basketball and instead has his attention fixed on you.

You glare at him weakly, knowing what he's thinking without him saying it. "Shut up."

It only makes him laugh again, a sharp smirk on his lips.

"What?" Gojo whines, missing the unspoken words you and Sukuna have exchanged.

"Weed doesn't make her annoying," Sukuna drawls, tossing the basketball up again, only this time away from him–you watch as it curves gracefully in the air, swishing through the little net Geto and Gojo have affixed to the back of their door. "She's always annoying."

"Kuna–" you mumble warningly, your cheeks flushing hot as you squirm nervously atop the rumpled sheets of Satoru's bed.

Everyone has stopped what they're doing now: Suguru's textbook set aside, Choso's fingers stilling with the edge of the nearly finished joint pinched between them.

Sukuna's smirk turns into something even sharper, a smile unfurling slow and wicked across his face.

"Weed doesn't make her annoying–it makes her into a whore."

Everything is hot.

The prickle of smoke in your lungs each time the joint is held to your lips—though you’ve lost track of whose fingers are holding it out to you now.

The flush that curls up your neck and through your face. It burns, almost; blood rushing too close to the surface of your skin to be comfortable.

The three sets of eyes you feel on your skin from various places around the room.

Sukuna’s mouth.

The dorm room smells unmistakably of weed–heavy, earthy, dank—even with the window open and a fan on to whisk the curling plumes of smoke outside. There’s a grimy old towel crammed into the space underneath the door to keep the scent from seeping out into the hallway, but the boys’ RA has let them get away with far worse in their time in residence. At this point you’re not exactly sure what it would take for them to earn a warning knock, much less any sort of formal reprimand.

You guess it pays to have your family’s name plastered on most of the buildings on campus like Satoru’s does.

There’s music playing in the room, bass heavy and slow, and you know it must be Geto’s doing even if you aren’t sure when he turned it on. You recognize the familiar sound from late night drives you’ve taken with him in his car—an old silver sedan that he takes immaculate care of, constantly tinkering away at it—and the songs he sends you to listen to from the other side of your table in the library while you study. The music, like the towel, serves its own purpose.

To mask the sound of you.

“‘Kuna,” you pant raggedly, fingers twisting into his blush pink hair and tugging. He sucks harder at the sensitive spot on your neck that he’s been lavishing with attention for the past few minutes—the one he’s more than familiar with from previous hookups—in retaliation. “Kiss me, kiss me.”

He chuckles, but indulges your desperation, mouthing his way back to your lips: up your throat, along your jaw, eventually slotting his soft mouth to yours.

“She’s so whiny when she’s high,” Gojo says breathlessly, but he sounds closer to you than you expect him to.

You peel your heavy eyelids open only to see him hovering just over Sukuna’s shoulder, blinking when you spot his unsettlingly blue eyes watching you raptly. You try to pull back from Sukuna’s rapacious kiss, startled by Satoru’s proximity, but the boy beneath you’s insistent hands hold you even more firmly to his lap in protest–earning him another needy sound from your throat as your hips grind down against his own. Your lips part in a silent cry of objection, and Sukuna takes it as an invitation to press his tongue even deeper into your open mouth.

“When’s someone else gonna get a turn?” Gojo complains, reaching out to tug on a bit of your hair beside your cheek childishly.

You’d chastise him if Sukuna’s tongue wasn’t mapping the depths of your throat.

“Relax, Satoru.” Geto snorts from his place on his dormitory bed.

Suguru’s textbook has long been discarded on the floor, the page he’d been reading marked but the time for revision evidently passed, and his hair has been retied into a neater knot at the top of his head, pulled back from his handsome face. His eyes watch carefully as Sukuna’s hands slip up underneath the hem of your top, thumbs dipping beneath the cups of your bra to sweep against the soft flesh. Suguru glances at the blonde still lingering over you from where he sits reclined–his legs crossed and body language apathetic though his attention feels anything but.

“We’ll all get our chance, so just enjoy the show.”

Sukuna draws back suddenly, lips parting from yours with one final wet smack.

He hums, nosing at your cheek as you try futilely to chase his mouth, whimpering as he denies you it. There’s a smirk curling, smug and cruel and sure, at the corner of his lips.

“He might have a point, y’know,” Sukuna drawls.

You make a little sound of confusion, your hands slipping from the back of Sukuna’s neck to the front of his t-shirt, pressing against the hard planes of his chest as you balance yourself atop his lap. The rolling desk chair you’re straddling him in really isn’t meant for two, especially not when you’re as dizzy as you currently feel, but Sukuna keeps you steady with his large hands braced on your hips.

He’d coaxed you over after your first few puffs and hadn’t let you leave his grasp since.

“Stop teasing,” you murmur, eyes tracing his pink, spit-slicked lips covetously.

“But if I fuck you first, that’s not really fair is it?—”

He tilts his face up and kisses you, deceptively gentle, and then pinches your bottom lip between his sharp teeth—pulling away until it slips from his bite and snaps back into place. You’re bewildered by his comment, peering at him curiously as your lip stings.

When has Sukuna ever cared about being fair?

He chuckles at your expression, as though he senses your thought without you saying it.

”—Not when I know just how you like it.”

“Do you two do this a lot?” Geto asks from his bed on the other side of the room, his tone level and impassive. Sukuna’s scarlet gaze flickers to him over your shoulder, and he grins—sharp and mean.

“Only when she begs for it.”

You’d refute the claim, but it has its grounds.

“That’s big talk, Ryomen,” Geto remarks, but there’s an unmistakably competitive undercurrent to his lighthearted tone.

“Too much talk,” Satoru interjects exasperatedly, cutting between the two men’s tense exchange and dragging you up to your feet in one swift motion. He’s at the end of his non-existent patience.

You move easily, pliably, under Gojo’s greater strength and imposing stature as he hauls you up; you stumble forward into his chest, unbalanced on your feet as your head swims. You’re dizzy, everything a little fuzzy around the edges, but he holds you steady with his palms cupping your cheeks and ducks down to crush his mouth to yours.

Satoru tastes sweet like the candy he was eating earlier, though you can’t honestly say how long it’s been since he’s polished off the bag, and he sounds just as tooth-achingly saccharine. Little moans and groans of praise slip from him unbidden as he topples back across his bed and drags you down with him.

“Toru, be careful,” you complain against his eagerness, the words half-lost to his lips, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He flips you over so you’re the one on your back, rising to his knees and pulling your hips down towards him so they rest atop his thighs. Your shoulder blades press into the soft give of his mattress, blinking up at him as he curls forward over your frame until the two of you are nose to nose. His breathing is notably faster, heavier than it had been before, as his hands trail up and down your sides, mapping every divot and curve of your thighs, hips and ribs.

“You’re so pretty,” he sighs infatuatedly, before locking your mouths together once more.

Satoru’s hands are greedy and relentless: pawing and groping at any part of you that he can reach. When he stretches his fingers wide, you’re almost startled by just how much of your torso they can span, digging into your flesh in fervent squeezes.

“I bet you taste good,” he breathes hotly against your mouth, pulling back to look at you with his pupils blown wider than you’ve ever seen them—it’s hard to believe he hasn’t taken a single hit from the joint at all with the way the inky black threatens to swallow the striking blue of his irises.

You hear a deep exhale, and the smell of smoke in the room thickens for a moment. Your head lolls to the side against Satoru’s soft cotton bedspread, and your unfocused eyes slide to Sukuna as he breathes out a wispy cloud of grey. His next words are directed to Gojo, but his attention is only on you.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Satoru heeds his advice zealously, and makes his way down your body while you writhe beneath him. It’s a little inundating, the way he touches you—the pressure of his body on yours, the heat of his big big hands, the praises that he whispers into every place his lips graze.

“Toru, I’m hot,” you complain, squirming as he kisses along your ribs.

He peeks up at you over the curve of your tummy, toying with the hem of your shirt between his fingers. His bright eyes are wide with excitement and his cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink. “I can help you with that.”

Eagerly he works to peel your top off over your head, it’s a little uncoordinated but you feel an immediate relief as the cool air from the fan meets your sticky skin. Satoru ducks down once your top has been shucked aside and you’re laid flat against the bed again, sucking a stinging mark into the swell of your chest that peeks out from your bra. He cups one palm around either breast to push them together and further into his drooling mouth. But still he doesn’t linger, frenetic in his avidity, moving quickly back down to the waistband of your pants and toying with the button of your jeans that holds them closed.

“Please, Satoru,” you mumble, almost shyly but undeniably strained, as his fingertips stroke the soft skin just below your navel.

He looks at you with a cheshire grin, pleased beyond anything to have you begging, and he needs no further encouragement to pop the closure open.

You lift your hips so Satoru can tug your jeans down your thighs, but he wastes no time in settling back between your parted thighs.

“Oh, look at her,” he coos, his thumb pressing against the damp patch of cotton between your legs. Your hips squirm at the pressure, but he keeps you pinned in place. “You’re so wet.”

With no warning, he dips down and sucks against the material lewdly.

“Toru!” you gasp, a hand flying to his hair and tugging on the impossibly soft white strands, though it does nothing to pry him away from his prize.

“Shh, shh,” he quiets you, pinching at your thigh punitively until your grip slackens, “I don’t wanna waste it.”

In seconds the cotton is soaked through with his spit, clinging to the lips of your cunt as he pushes it between your folds with his tongue. He hums happily with every debauched slurp.

“This is nasty,” Geto says with a laugh as he watches the spectacle unfolding from the bed opposite, sounding every bit as though he’s enjoying himself. “You’re always such a freak, Satoru.”

You’re a little too far gone to catch the implication that you’re not the first girl the two of them have shared. Probably not even in this very room.

“Give her another hit, Kamo,” Sukuna chimes in from his seat at the end of the bed, leaning back leisurely in his chair as he takes in the scene before him.

You’d almost forgotten Choso was there, honestly, especially with Gojo’s tongue toying with your clit through the thin material of your panties. You tilt your head to the side, looking through the hazy dorm room to see the youngest (and the quietest) of the four men watching you with pink in his cheeks, and another unlit joint between his fingers.

Another one? How many have you gone through now?

Choso approaches trepidatiously, and crouches next to the bed beside your head. He clicks the purple plastic lighter held in his fingers, sparking it to life, and holds it to the end of the joint pinched between his lips. He takes a small puff to start it off, pursing his mouth to the side on his exhale as he tries not to blow the smoke into your already teary eyes. He gently holds the unlit end to your lips in offering once it’s burning.

“Just a little one, okay?” you say warily, wrapping your lips around the little paper filter. He nods with his gaze on nothing but your mouth, and swallows thickly.

You feel the first prickle of smoke in your burning lungs at the exact moment Gojo wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard.

You gasp, drawing in a breath too deeply, and immediately choke on the bitter, acrid taste that floods your throat. You cough and cough, smoke slipping from your mouth and nose while your back arches high off Satoru’s bed with every hack, and spit dribbles from the corner of your lips messily.

“Are you alright?” Choso asks, immediately tossing the joint aside into the grody, chipped ashtray resting under the window. He quickly wipes the saliva on your chin away with the edge of his hoodie sleeve, looking at you with panicked eyes.

“Oh, Satoru, that was mean,” Geto calls from his place across the room, but he sounds almost pleased.

“She’s not paying attention to me.” Gojo pulls back from between your legs, a pout on his slick, swollen lips. A long, viscid string of saliva stretches and breaks between his mouth and your throbbing clit.

Sukuna laughs, thoroughly entertained. “Maybe she’s tired of you sucking on her g-string like a perv.”

“Is that true?” Gojo asks you, sounding almost wounded as he drags you down towards him across the mattress. You’ve still barely caught your breath, your head spinning in a way you don’t quite like as he drops to his knees on the floor. He positions your hips at the very edge of the bed and hooks your knees over either one of his shoulders, your thighs parting further to accommodate his broad frame.

He doesn’t bother to wait for a response to his own question as his lithe fingers pry your soaking wet underwear down your thighs, and the tell-tale sound of cotton tearing tells you that you won’t be putting them back on again. He tosses the tattered remains towards Choso who catches them in confusion, glancing between the sopping scraps in his hand and the man who had thrown them at him.

“You can play with those while you wait your turn,” Gojo says to him, his voice shifting from the cloying, petulant tone he’d used with you into something low, firm, and warning. He suddenly sounds every bit the young scion you know him to be.

Satoru’s blue eyes flicker back to you, as if to make sure you’re watching, and then he dips down and seals his mouth against your bare pussy.

It’s hot, wet, and overwhelming—a sound not dissimilar to a squeal is torn out of you as Satoru’s tongue moves, messy and relentless, between your legs. You’d almost call his technique uncoordinated if it wasn’t so disastrously effective; pleasure curls tight in your belly with every slick suck against your clit, though it’s a mounting burn like panic.

“Toru, I—ngh, haa—s-slow down please I—“ you’re babbling and you know it, barely coherent as your head swims. Before you can even formulate a complete utterance, each fleeting thought less tangible than the last, Satoru’s teeth bite down into the flesh of your inner thigh and you shriek.

“So fuckin’ noisy,” Sukuna muses flatly from his chair at the end of the bed. He’s got a front row seat to watching Gojo devour you—and to the angry red imprint of teeth he’s left burning on your thigh—but he stands, shuffling across the room towards the window by your head. You’re too distracted to keep track of his movements as he plucks your panties from Choso’s hand and approaches the bed where you lie defenseless under the ministrations of Gojo’s tongue.

Sukuna stares down at you for a moment, but you can barely keep your eyes open to meet his gaze.

“Open up,” he says, tapping your cheek with the knuckle of his crooked index finger.

You oblige without thinking, lips parting and tongue pressing forward slightly between them. Without any warning, he stuffs the remnants of your undergarment into your mouth.

The fabric tastes of your slick and Gojo’s spit, sticky and tangy and obscene, and it makes your already dry mouth feel even more desiccated as your moans bleed into the material.

Satoru whines into your cunt, a thoroughly pleased sound at the debauched sight. He grinds shamelessly against the end of his bed as he kneels at the foot of it, his hands holding your hips even firmer against his face as his tongue laps against your twitching hole all the way back up to your clit.

“You gonna cum for him?” Sukuna asks, watching the way your eyes are fighting to stay open, the way your fingers are gripping weakly into the blankets beneath you.

You nod, your mouth stuffed too full for anything else, with tears burning in your bleary eyes.

He smirks. “Give ‘em a good show then, will ya?”

He takes his seat again, knees spread as his hand passes lightly over the half-hard swell of his own cock, ready to watch you fall apart.

Your back bows on a particularly enthusiastic suck against your clit, your thighs clamping down hard over Satoru’s ears. Electricity thrums live through your veins, crackling from one end of your body to the other until you see it spark behind your eyes, and the sound of your desperate voice stops registering in your empty mind as your own as your muffled cries turn rapturous.

“Wow,” you distantly hear Geto—at least you think it’s Suguru’s voice—remark approvingly, watching the way your thighs twitch around his best friend’s neck as your orgasm rips through you.

Your muscles go slack as your clit throbs dully, still victim to Satoru’s insatiable tongue, your legs nearly slipping off his shoulders as your pulse thrums in your ears. Your trembling fingers reach up to fish the panties out of your mouth as you pant desperately for breath.

Satoru’s bed is surprisingly comfortable, you can’t help but notice as you fight to draw in air. It’s way more comfortable than your own standard issue dorm mattress, and you wonder if he’d brought his own to furnish the room on move-in day as you sink back into it. Your eyes are shut, and you feel like you could slip away to the call of sleep if you just—

“That was so pretty, you’re so pretty, god you taste so good,”—Satoru scrambles up, leaving you no time to recover from the sedulous talents of his overactive mouth, pulling his hard cock out of his jeans and shucking them down to mid-thigh hurriedly—“you’re so perfect.”

Your eyes flutter open and down to watch as he runs himself through the mess he’s made, rutting just the underside of his cock against you as precum oozes from his slit. Your breath hitches as you catch sight of him for the first time.

“Satoru–”

He holds both of your knees together with a single hand, twisting your hips slightly to one side and grinding himself against the wet heat of your pussy, but never sinking inside. You’re not sure you could even take it, he’s so big; anyone else’s dick would look small in comparison to Satoru’s hands, but his is perfectly, terrifyingly proportionate to the rest of him.

Fortunately for you, he seems content to fuck himself against you like this– or too desperate to do much of anything else—the patch of neatly trimmed white hair at the base of his flushed cock brushing against the back of your thighs on every frantic thrust.

“Your pussy is so soft, so wet,” Satoru prattles on incessantly as he grinds against you, his hips clapping against your ass with every rut, “so good. D’you know that? You know that, right?”

You don’t answer him. Can’t answer him. Struck dumb by the ebbing glow of your orgasm, the sight of his enormous cock, and the THC flooding through your bloodstream. Your silence doesn’t seem to bother him in any case—he seems far more interested in the sound of his own voice than in anything that you might have to say in reply.

Satoru stays vocal as he chases his own pleasure, moaning and praising you blindly as he humps himself between your thighs. It doesn’t take much longer until he cums across your stomach with a blissed out keen that puts every pornstar you’ve ever seen to shame. His hands hold you tight against his twitching hips as he cock kicks and gives one last long splatter of white across your tummy, all the way up to the valley of your ribs.

The room is quiet in the aftermath, save for the steady buzzing of the fan, the music playing from the speaker on Suguru’s desk, and the sound of you and Satoru’s laboured breathing.

But not for long.

“Jeez, do you always have to be so messy?” Geto asks, rising from his place across the room. But there’s no real bite in his comment—and there never is when it comes to Satoru. “You really need to learn to clean up after yourself.”

Gojo grabs your discarded panties from beside you on his bed and swipes them through the cum drying to your skin with a little giggle, barely cleaning you up at all.

Geto gives him a harmless little knock against the back of his head, but doesn’t truly seem to mind.

“You know, I really didn’t take you for such an exhibitionist,” he says to you as he pries your limp body up off Satoru’s bed, weak-kneed and unsteady as you may be, and helps you across the room towards his own.

Suguru leads each of your wobbly steps like a dance—one arm wrapped snugly around your waist, and his other hand clasped around yours as he steers you across the narrow strip of floor between their respective halves of the room. He pulls you down to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into his mattress (not nearly as plush as Satoru’s) on either side of his hips as you bounce lightly on the creaky springs, while he rests with his back against the dorm wall.

“I’m not, Suguru,” you mumble petulantly, fisting his t-shirt as he holds you flush against him. He smells good, even through the stench of the weed clinging to him and you and everything else in the room—like new paper, laundry detergent, and the conditioner you’d bought for him once that he never stopped using—and you nuzzle instinctively into his neck to get closer to the scent. You must be making a mess of his grey sweatpants, but he doesn’t complain.

“Sure, sure,” he says breezily, and you feel the gentle warmth of his hand on your chin as he tilts your face up towards him.

He kisses you and it’s hungry.

Tongues sliding, mouths parted, teeth nipping at your already sore lips.

Kissing Suguru is nice, you think. It feels familiar even in its foreignness. Welcome even in the head rush. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about it before, even if your relationship has only ever been platonic: in quiet moments in his beloved car, late night study dates in isolated corners of the library, midnight walks across campus to the convenience store to sate an ill-timed craving. His lips had always been tempting, but it’s even better than you may have hoped.

You lose yourself in it, a little bit—whatever is left of you to be lost, anyway.

You barely notice as his nimble fingers undo the clasp of your bra, easing it away until you’re completely bare against him; too preoccupied to piece together that you’re the only person in the room who isn’t fully clothed. He tilts his face away from you for a moment, leaving you to kitten lick at the corner of his mouth distractingly.

“Pass me the joint,” he grunts out towards Choso, tossing your bra aside as haplessly as Gojo had discarded the rest of your clothes, and his junior hands the half-burned spliff to him obediently.

“Don’t want any more,” you murmur against Suguru’s cheek, dipping down and tucking your face into the crook of his neck again.

He laughs, and you feel the sound reverberate through his chest and into yours.

“Just a little bit?” he urges you, an affectionate arm snaking around your waist and squeezing. “For me?”

You shake your head as much as you’re able with your burning face hidden against his throat.

“Here,” he coaxes you out with a gentle knead of his fingers into your thigh, and you find yourself peeking up at him against your better judgement. “You’ll barely even get high from this, it’s just to keep you feeling good.”

You don’t know if what he says is true, but you let him do it anyway. He takes a long drag from the joint, his serpentine eyes watching you carefully as the cherry flares bright red and angry, and then he seals his mouth over yours and exhales.

You breathe in the heavy, polluted air from his lungs like a reflex.

“There you go,” he says, drawing back and watching contently as you exhale a little cloud of smoke. It’s fainter than if you’d taken the hit yourself, and burns less in your chest, so you think he must be right. “Easy.”

Things get fuzzier after that.

Suguru has you on your hands and knees, though you don’t quite know how you got there. Maybe you’d moved yourself, maybe he’d instructed you, or maybe he’d maneuvered your pliant body with the force of his own two hands. But here you are, your face pressed into a pillow that smells of him, his body curving over yours from behind.

You feel his bare chest against your back, and wonder when he’d taken off his shirt. Wonder if it’s the only thing that’s bare. Suguru mouths at the nape of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Y’know, I’ve been waiting a long time for this,--” he whispers the words so softly that you’re sure only you can hear them. They rattle around through your brain for a moment, incoherent in the buzz.

Once they finally do register, there’s a part of you—a distant, more sober part, that’s watching things unfold warily—wonders if he means longer than just the time he’d watched Sukuna and Satoru play with you. His fingers trail down your sides, and you shiver.

“--but it’s okay. I’m patient.”

“Suguru!” you cry out as he slips the head of his cock inside of you without warning. You aren’t ready, even though you’re wet—Gojo hadn’t stretched you out, and Suguru’s fingers, for all their teasing and toying, had never pressed inside.

“God, how’s your pussy so tight?” he hisses through his teeth, the stifling heat of his body fading as he draws himself up to rest on his knees. He has one hand on the small of your back holding you down, while the other is on your ass–spreading you apart so he can see the way he’s pressing into your pussy.

He’s still barely inside of you, but his hips still as he takes in the way your walls are stretched around him, sucking him in. He takes a moment to collect himself, then glances over his shoulder at Sukuna.

“You must not actually be fucking her as well as you think you are.”

Sukuna scowls. “Fuck you.”

“Bit busy right now,” Suguru replies, feigning flippancy as he snaps his hips forward harshly, sheathing himself all the way to the hilt. He grinds against your ass as you whimper into his pillow, the sound muffled beyond recognition by the cotton of his pillowcase. “But hit me up later.”

Geto is brutal in the way he fucks you: unyielding, rough. But he touches you tenderly. Praises you gently under his breath after every thrust. It’s almost confusing; his hips at war with his hands, his actions at war with his words.

The initial pain and discomfort subsides quickly, thanks to Suguru’s fingers carefully rolling against your twitching clit. Every time you want to complain, he compensates his cruelty with something so pleasant that the protest dies on your lips.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight right now,” Suguru groans, fingers skirting up to pinch at one of your pebbled nipples. You clench down around him instinctively at the sensation. “You want to cum?”

There’s too much saliva in your mouth to answer him properly, too much blood rushing to your head to do anything more than whimper and nod as your fists twist into his blue bed sheets.

“Do you deserve to cum?” Suguru asks, his hips easing to a torturous grind behind you, dragging slow against your fluttering walls. “Gojo already made you cum once, and you didn’t even thank him for it.”

“Suguru, you’re being a bastard again,” Gojo laughs brightly from the other side of the room, though you can’t see him from where your head is pressed into the pillow.

“If you could feel how tight her little pussy just clamped down around me you’d know she likes it,” the man inside you laughs, something mean and manic in the sound. He curves himself over your back again, brushing a bit of your hair away from your face. “You tell Gojo thank you, and I’ll let you cum, how about that?”

Geto’s fingers wrap themselves around your throat, pulling you upright with a hand cupped under your chin. There’s spit and tears on your face, and you feel them cooling against the breeze of the fan on the other side of the room as you blink against the brightness of the fluorescent light overhead.

You turn your head slightly with Suguru’s help, meeting Gojo’s eye from across the dorm. He’s got a cherry-red lollipop in his mouth now, staining his swollen lips. He’s seated with his legs crossed at the end of his bed, and he’s watching you intently as you peer over at him.

“Thank you, Toru,” you rasp, moaning when Geto’s hand squeezes a little bit tighter around your windpipe.

“For what?” Suguru urges you to continue, lips pressing against your hairline. He gives a slow, tantalizing roll of his hips, and he feels so much deeper at this angle–like he’s pressing right up against the inside of your stomach.

Your eyelids flutter, and you struggle to swallow under his grip.

You meet Gojo’s eager gaze again.

“Thank you for m-making me cum, Satoru.”

Gojo grins ferally around the candy in his mouth, and Geto hums, appeased. Goosebumps prickle across your skin as he presses a kiss to your sticky temple.

“Good girl.”

The hand not loosely cupping your throat snakes down between your legs, orbiting your tacky clit in quick, vicious circles—your reward.

You cry out, nails scrabbling against his forearm near your throat blindly, your body slackening against the sudden onslaught of pleasure building in your core. Geto strength is the only thing keeping you upright as your body trembles.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let everyone see how pretty you are when you cum on my cock.”

And you do.

You cum so hard under the relentless swipes of Suguru’s fingertips that it almost hurts. Your thighs shake as you come undone, the tightness in the centre of your core snapping like a cord wound up too taut. His hips don’t stop fucking you through your peak, your chest bouncing on every thrust, even as the pangs of overstimulation begin to twist the pleasure into something painful.

You hiccup over a sob.

“Please, please,” you beg him, watery and desperate, slumping even further forward against his hold. “Suguru, s’too much, I can’t.”

He relents, mercifully—letting go of your throat and wrapping his arms around you from behind, pulling you upright against his chest again and pressing kisses to your neck. His tongue flicks out to taste the perspiration on your aching throat.

“You’re so good to us, aren’t you?” he murmurs into your skin, and you feel yourself nodding as his arms tighten around you.

Choso is still sitting on the floor beside the head of the bed, and his dark doe-eyes blink at you in surprise as your dizzy gazes meet—almost like he’s not anticipating being seen. He’s running his hand along the visible swell of his cock in his black joggers absentmindedly, but his touch is featherlight and barely there. He watches you watch him through a heavy-lidded gaze.

“You’re up, Kamo.”

Suguru sounds warm, gregarious even, in his invitation, and it takes both of you by surprise. He shuffles away behind you, drawing back and leaving you terribly empty. You whine, falling forward to your elbows and narrowly avoiding landing on your face now that he’s not there to keep you upright.

“Su’gru, wait,” you slur needily, reaching behind you with your hand to grasp blindly where you expect him to be. You wiggle your hips in search of him, and feel your pussy fluttering around nothing.

Suguru’s fingers dance teasingly across your palm and then over your spine, down to your ass. He grips the soft give of muscle and fat, squeezing down into the flesh as laughter bubbles up in his throat.

“Make a bit of room, sweetheart. Choso needs a turn too,”—he gives you another squeeze, this time insistent—“you’ll let him use your pretty mouth, won’t you?”

You hum some sort of agreement.

Choso stands and approaches the bed, watching your expression carefully. He’s intrigued, undeniably, but seems poised to flee at the slightest indication of uncertainty on your part.

“Hi Choso,” you say as you blink up at him, sniffling as you push yourself weakly onto your haunches, your hands resting atop your knees. He’s blushed down to his throat as he dips his head at you in quiet greeting. Your hand reaches up to trail against the prominent outline of his cock below his waistband. “Can I?”

He nods, but it’s hesitant. “If you’re sure.”

Choso lowers himself into the bed, making sure not to jostle you too harshly as he finds his place with a leg on either side of your body, propped against the headboard.

You crawl forward towards his lap, nuzzling against the tent in his joggers and mouthing at the tip until you can taste the salty tang of his precum seeping through the fabric. He brushes some hair back from your eyes as you peek up at him.

His gaze is heavy, like the droop of his eyelids, and this close to him you see just how warm the deep brown of his eyes really is. So dark they almost look black, from this angle you can see the honey that runs behind the stygian surface.

He’s really very handsome in his own strangely delicate way, you can’t help but think.

Your hand creeps slowly below the waistband of his joggers, fingers following the little trail of coarse hair below his navel until you wrap your hand around him. His cock is hot and heavy, and you can feel it give a palpable little twitch as your fingers circle the surprising girth. Gently, you pull him out.

Even Choso’s cock is pretty. Long, curved, with purpled veins that run the length of him all the way to the flushing, leaking tip. He’s so hard. Achingly hard. You can’t believe how lightly he’d been touching himself when you see just how desperately aroused he is.

You dip forward and take the head of him into your mouth, suckling around him. Desperate to give him some sort of relief. Choso hisses in surprise as your lips seal themselves around the flared head, tonguing at the slit—almost like he hadn’t been expecting you to touch him at all.

Your eyes watch him intently, your brow quirking in curiosity.

“S’hot,” he explains, his deep, raspy voice incongruously diffident. “Your mouth is hot, s’all.”

You focus your attention on Choso’s tip for a while, because he seems so sensitive there—little gasps and twitches of his hips giving him away. Your drool drips slowly down to his balls, the waistband of his joggers tucked beneath them catching it, and you use your hand to slowly stroke the slickness back up from the base towards your mouth.

It sounds messy–it is messy–but no one vocalizes the slightest bit of complaint.

Behind you, Suguru’s fingers dip just barely inside of you–twisting, curling and scissoring before they withdraw and roll slowly over your neglected clit. You’re not as sensitive as you had been, and the sensation is nice but never enough. Your hips cant back unconsciously towards him as you chase his touch for more, and it makes him laugh, but never quite indulge you.

Choso shifts slightly, taking the hem of his t-shirt that’s rucked up over the bottom of his tummy obstructing his view of you and bringing it up to pinch it between his teeth. As he lifts his shirt to expose his skin, he reveals two pink pierced nipples that make you keen in interest.

You pull yourself off of him with a lewd slurp.

“Those are pretty,” you say with a breathy sigh as you admire the little piercings, stroking his cock languidly in one hand. It makes a wet shlick shlick sound with every slippery pass.

Choso lets out a garbled little sound of thanks around the t-shirt in his mouth. You reach up to brush over the metal, curious and experimental, and his thin frame is wracked by a shiver at your gentle touch—the muscles in his abdomen tightening before your eyes.

“Take him in your mouth again, baby. Deep.” Suguru’s voice urges you from over your shoulder, reminding you of the task at hand.

You obey, though you’re a little disappointed to have to tear your attention away from the stainless steel barbells on Choso’s flushing chest.

There’s a bit of discomfort as the fat tip of Choso’s cock squeezes its way past the entrance to your throat, but it’s nothing you can’t handle as you dig your fingertips down into his thighs to ground yourself. He groans, spit soaking into the material of his t-shirt held between his teeth, his eyes so heavy-lidded that they’re barely open as he watches you swallow him down. His cock gives a palpable twitch on your tongue as the pressure of your throat welcomes him in.

You moan around his length at the sensation.

With no warning at all, Suguru presses inside of you again from behind, stretching you open and filling you full full full. You might panic if not for the haze of your mind, but not even that delirious calm can keep you from involuntarily gagging around Choso’s cock as it nestles itself more firmly into the very back of your throat.

“Oh, you tightened up even more,” Suguru says happily, squeezing one of your ass cheeks as he rolls his hips into you, suffocating you even further on Choso’s cock, “do that again.”

You can’t breathe with Choso this deep, especially not with Suguru fucking into you from the other end, forcing any meagre amount of air you do manage to take in through shaky breaths promptly back out through your nose. Your lungs burn. Your jaw aches.

“Gojo, think you can get it up again? There’s a whole other hole going empty back here.” You suddenly feel a hot trail of spit drop against you, and Suguru’s slick fingertip traces teasingly around your rim.

“Ngh—”

You rip yourself upright, desperate and frightened, saliva flying from your mouth as you cough now that Choso’s cock is no longer carving its way down your esophagus. You push yourself up onto your knees with your hands on Choso’s trembling thighs and instinctively try to crawl towards him, away from the man behind you.

You toss a panicked glance over your shoulder.

“—Suguru, no. I-I don’t like that.”

It’s the first time you’ve made eye contact with Geto in some time, and definitely the first time you’ve denied him anything. His skin glistens with perspiration, hair slightly messy as it hangs around his shoulders from where half of it has fallen out of his bun at the crown of his head. His eyes are a little wild, but he softens at the sincere look of upset in your tearful gaze–using his grip on your hips to drag you back into his arms.

He presses little kisses across your face, as familiar and comforting as a lover might.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes you, pecking his way along your cheeks to your quivering lips. “You know I’d never do anything you don’t like, right? I’m too crazy about you to ever do that.”

Something twists in your gut that doesn’t feel nice, though you can’t quite put your finger on why.

The song playing in the room trails off, and there’s a few beats of silence before the next kicks in.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Do you?

You let him kiss you into submission once more, held tight in his embrace.

Geto’s hand finds yours and slowly guides your touch back to Choso’s cock, encouraging you to pump your hand up and down the slick length as he continues to kiss you senseless—he’s moving in time like a rhythm you can’t quite follow, resigning yourself to being swept along with the motions. Suguru’s hand around yours grips Choso so tight, and the boy laying on the bed grunts but doesn’t complain, and you realise that he likes it a bit rougher than you’d been with him.

“You’re not gonna break him,” Geto encourages you, mirthful even in the quiet tone of his voice, and it bolsters your confidence to wrap your hand a little bit tighter around the girth of his throbbing cock of your own volition. Choso moans prettily into the hem of his t-shirt, his hips lifting up off the bed.

“I don’t think poor Choso’s gonna last much longer, are you gonna help him cum?” Suguru murmurs into your mouth, and your foggy gaze slides over to the young man in question, writhing on the bed as Geto grips him even tighter on an upstroke with his hand still clasped over yours.

“Mmmhmm,” you agree, and Geto smiles into one last kiss before pulling away.

You get back down on your hands and knees between Choso’s parted thighs, continuing to stroke him with the same intensity that Geto had set. He’s slick not only with your saliva but the liberal amount of precum beading at his slit now and dribbling down his length, and the bitter taste blooms across your tongue as you lick a long stripe from the base to the top. He whimpers as you press the very tip of your tongue just underneath the sensitive head.

“You gonna cum in her mouth or on her face, Kamo?” Sukuna drawls from his seat across the room, and the reminder that he’s still there—still waiting for his turn—makes your thighs press together as your pussy gives a needy throb. “She looks good both ways.”

Choso finally lets the sopping hem of his t-shirt slip from between his teeth, staring down at you with shiny lips and flushed cheeks as his chest heaves.

“Mouth?” he asks raggedly, forming the request like a question—like he’d let you say no. You smile softly.

You like how sweet Choso is with you. How he treats you like you’re delicate.

You stroke his weeping cock once, twice, three times more, and then wrap your lips around him and swallow him as deep as you possibly can.

Choso cums with a beatific moan, his narrow hips jumping up off the creaky mattress of Suguru’s bed. His hands twist into the sheets beside him like he’s trying not to thread them through your hair and hold you flush against him, and you appreciate the courtesy. Once he paints your mouth white, a few hot spurts slipping down your throat, you pull away and make a show of letting your tongue loll out so he can see what’s left of him clinging to it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, fighting for breath, and you nod—coy and demure like you don’t have a stomach full of his cum.

He cranes up towards you, pressing his lips to yours gently. You kiss him with his cum still in your mouth, his tongue sweeping forward to taste it off you.

“Damn, you might be nastier than I am, Kamo,” Gojo cheers from the other side of the room in absolute delight.

“Fat fuckin’ chance,” Sukuna snorts.

Choso kisses you until you can’t feel any more of his spend lingering in your mouth, though the salty, bitter taste still faintly remains. Your fingers creep up under his shirt to brush over the warm metal of the barbells pierced through his skin as the two of you explore each other’s mouths. You pinch down gently and it earns you a little groan of pleasure as the tip of his tongue traces against your palate. You kiss him–lazy and messy and gentle–and it feels so good you momentarily forget you have an audience.

“How sweet.” There’s something condescending about the way Geto coos it, patronising even. “So good to our shy little junior.”

You pull away from Choso—a long strand of saliva stretching and breaking between your kiss bruised mouths, remnants of it landing on your chin. Geto’s poised on his knees at the other end of the bed, watching you with a smile that makes his eyes narrow and curve into half-moons. There’s nothing kind about it.

He runs a hand along his still stiff cock as it stands proudly between his legs.

“I’d say that’s enough now, wouldn’t you?”

Choso pulls himself up out of the bed without complaint, his fingertips grazing your chin as he cleans the spit from it for the second time that afternoon—though this time the mess is his, at least in part, instead of only yours.

Once it’s just the two of you left atop the bed, Suguru flips you over and presses your legs back. He kisses up between the valley of your breasts as he slots himself between your legs, dragging the flared head of his cock between your soft, sticky folds. He’s already made you cum once, but he hasn’t yet reached his limit.

Part of you wonders if he’s been holding off for this.

“Did you put on a condom?” you ask, the thought appearing suddenly and starkly. You hadn’t thought about it before–hadn’t had the presence of mind to do so–but now it seems the only thought rattling around in your hazy, delirious brain.

“Oh, I forgot,” Suguru says, though he doesn’t sound remotely apologetic as he sucks against your pulse-point. You’re sensitive there, and it makes something flutter in your tummy that threatens to distract you from the topic at hand. “That okay? You’re on birth control, aren’t you?”

You nod, because it’s true in part—the latter part specifically.

You don’t have time to bring up the former issue before Suguru is fucking himself inside of you again—a thrust so hard you slide a little further up the bed. You gasp at the sudden stretch and claw at his back, your nails dragging against the musculature of his shoulder blades as he fucks you down into his mattress. He bites and tugs at your lips, kissing you meanly, his hips jackhammering as he chases the release he’s denied himself up until this point.

His dark hair falls completely out of the knot it had only loosely been holding onto, falling in a curtain around both of your faces. For a moment it’s just the two of you. Laboured breaths. Skin on skin.

Suguru swallows your needy mewls with his esurient mouth, drool spilling down your chin with how messily he’s kissing you.

“Take it, take it,” he rasps, a fissure crackling through his carefully maintained composure as he nears the end of his fraying rope. “Show them all how you were made to take my fucking cock, baby.”

Your thighs shake where they’re pressed up to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh behind your knees as he pushes them even higher up. He uses his grip as leverage to swing his hips down even harder against your own, your jaw going slack on a wordless wail.

Suguru watches the way his cock is carving into you for a few thrusts more, and then he snaps–burying his face in the crook of your neck and clamping his teeth down viciously at the juncture where your throat slopes into your shoulder.

Your back bows off the bed and you scream at the exact same moment that Suguru pitches over the edge, your nails clawing down his back blindly as he stuffs you full with rope after rope of hot, sticky cum—fucking you through his peak with lazy, arrhythmic thrusts that grow sloppier with every throb of his spent cock buried inside of you.

You collapse back onto his bed, boneless and aching. You don’t even know what you feel, how you feel. It’s all just a bit too much to sort through in your addled mind, dulled to an incoherent cacophony of sensations all fighting for attention you don’t have the wits to give them. It’s all out of focus, warped beyond comprehension and only partially due to your inebriation.

Suguru slumps on top of you, your chests meeting. You smell his conditioner again. Familiar. Nice. He’s heavy, but you almost welcome it–it distracts you momentarily from the throbbing in your neck.

“C’mon, Suguru, you almost broke her and now you’re gonna squish her too?” Gojo jeers from the other side of the room, and Suguru laughs as he pushes himself up, the tacky skin of your chests peeling away from each other.

You blink up at him tiredly as he holds himself over you, his dark hair hanging in his eyes. His lips quirk, cupping your face in his hand. It’s tender until it’s not, his fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks until your lips purse.

“She liked it,” he tosses over his shoulder towards his best friend, sitting up on his knees. He brushes his hair back from his face with one hand, and spreads your quaking thighs with the other. He laughs, his thumb tracing the bitemark Satoru had left for you there, watching the way his cum drips out of you as you clench weakly around nothing. “At least this part of her did.”

You reach up to hide your face under your hands, letting out a plaintive little sound as your cheeks burn. You feel the bed shift as Suguru gets up.

“What are you being shy about now?”

You pry your hands off your face and let your heavy eyelids flit open, though it takes a concerted amount of effort, only to see Sukuna standing above you with a brow quirked. He perches himself on the edge of the bed and swipes a warm, calloused hand over your tearstained cheek.

“You look out of it.”

“Kuna,” you murmur weakly, pouting. You’re grateful to see him in spite of his snark, and when you nuzzle your nose into his rough palm he chuckles. There’s something comforting about his presence, though you may be the only person on earth to ever think that.

“Still got one more in you? For me?” he asks, running his thumbnail–painted black though the polish has long begun to chip–along the edge of your bottom lip.

You nod.

Sukuna kisses you even though you’re messy, crawling over you on Suguru’s rumpled bedspread. He pulls off his t-shirt and kicks his sweatpants and boxers gracelessly off the end of the bed to deal with later.

Your body feels funny, like it’s yours but not quite. Tangible and yet somehow shapeless—given form only in the way that Sukuna’s hands trace it.

The tip of his cock catches on your puffy, slick hole, and you wince.

“Sensitive,” you murmur against his mouth, wriggling underneath him in discomfort, and he nods because he knows.

It always surprises you how gentle Sukuna is as he eases inside, and this time is no different. Your head spins at the familiar, toe-curling stretch, and he curses lightly as he seats himself balls-deep inside of you.

“Best pussy on campus, I swear,” he groans against your stinging lips, squeezing your tits which he has cupped in each hand appreciatively.

He pulls out slowly, making sure you feel every curve and ridge of him as he withdraws—like he wants you to feel how empty he’s leaving you before he’s bullying his way back inside of you again. He begins to rut into you in slow, agonizing strokes, all with near impossible accuracy. The pace he fucks you at is deep and unhurried, just like he’s had practice to know you like it.

Sukuna links your fingers together as he presses both of your hands up over your head.

“Feeling good?” Sukuna laughs against your clumsy tongue, seeing the way your eyes are crossed and barely open.

You nod, beyond the point of saying anything that isn’t his name as your fingers tighten minutely around his own.

“Fuck, you sound sloppy,” he breathes and you whine, your legs squeezing around his waist in warning. He clicks his tongue at your indignant little sound, but he’s still indulgent as he fucks into you–careful and slow. “Y’know I like you like this.”

Sukuna frees his hands from yours so he can pry your legs from their cage around him, pressing them back into the mattress so your knees are butterflied apart. Your fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of his neck as the bed shakes–the rickety old frame rattling as it knocks against the dorm wall when his hips pick up the pace, the rhythm of his thrusts building in speed.

“Gettin’ pretty tight,” he grunts, his voice more strained now than it had been only a moment prior. “You wanna cum?”

You nod frantically, tears of exertion welling in your eyes.

“Gonna, hnn haa–Kuna, I’m gonna–!“

He hums, understanding your garbled pleas even though they never take shape into anything articulate. He presses down on the bottom of your stomach with one hand, an almost blinding pressure panging in your core.

“Let go for me then, princess.”

It all goes white.

“Oh fuck, did you guys see that?”

You fight to gather your bearings as your pulse pounds viciously under your tongue. Your head rolls to the side in Suguru’s bed, a tear dripping down towards your temple, only to see Gojo staring at you in wide-eyed astonishment, his sucker hanging out of his mouth.

What does he have his phone out for?

The bed is still knocking noisily against the dorm room wall, but it’s surprisingly well in-time with the beat of the music that’s playing.

It smells like sex, and sweat, and weed.

And everything is so, so wet.

Your eyes flicker down your body towards Sukuna. It’s slick along the bottom of his tensed abs and both of your thighs; dripping down your skin and seeping into the duvet on Suguru’s bed.

Oh.

You’re not even sure if you properly came or not, but everything is light and heavy at the same time, torturous and divine. Your walls flutter around Sukuna’s cock all the same, and it leaves him stumbling over his words.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hips slamming down into yours. “So. F-fucking. Messy.”

He yanks you up into his arms, bouncing you on his cock as your arms wind themselves weakly around his neck. You have no strength in your grip, but he holds you tight. The loud lewd slap of skin on skin fills the room as he pummels into you relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck.” Sukuna thrusts up into you one last time as he cums, holding you down at the same time that he humps against your ass–his hips twitching as his cock gives a heavy throb buried inside of you. You feel hot and almost uncomfortably full; spend drips filthily out of your cunt around the base of his cock, though you can no longer tell what’s his, yours or Geto’s anymore.

It’s a finish befitting the show that you’d promised.

Sukuna sets you down gently, grunting slightly as his flagging cock slips out from the vice of your cunt. He rearranges your legs into a more comfortable position, and with a final affectionate pat on your ass, he stands from the bed.

Gojo whistles appreciatively as you recuperate, tucking his phone back into his pocket and shooting you a wink as your tired eyes flicker over to him. His glossy lips wrap around his lollipop, pushing the candy from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue, as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

You lose the battle against your fluttering eyelids quickly, your vision going dark.

“Didn’t know she could squirt,” you hear Suguru say icily—but he sounds far away, like you’re overhearing the conversation from underwater.

Gentle hands ease your aching body up off of the bed, and something soft is wrapped around your shoulders. You burrow into it, eyelids fluttering but never quite lifting, as someone slips into place behind you, propping you up against their warm chest. You rest slack in their hold.

Your eyes peel open to see Sukuna pulling on his shirt on the other side of the room, his shoulder blades flexing as he lifts the tee up and tugs it over his head. He laughs, but it’s not a particularly friendly sound, as his head pops out through the neck hole. He claps a hand on Suguru’s shoulder, who stands beside him with his arms crossed over his chest. The gesture is fraught with tension.

Sukuna shows a sharp, smug flash of teeth.

“Yeah,” he says, “and she lets me fuck her ass, too.”

The corner of Suguru’s nose twitches like he’s trying not to sneer.

You let your eyes close once more, though if you had the energy you’d be rolling them.

There’s a sudden knock at the boys' dorm room door.

It’s a single rap. Sharp. Irritated.

They don’t even bother trying to hide the weed, Sukuna—brazen as he is—actually tucks an unlit joint behind his ear as he kicks the towel away and pulls open the door.

“Yeah, what?” he asks the unsuspecting knocker brusquely, leaning indolently against the doorframe on one arm.

A tut of admonishment comes from the other side of Sukuna’s frame, followed by a beleaguered sigh.

“Do you guys mind? Some people in this building are trying to study while you’re in here—”

The familiar voice falters to a stop.

Sukuna laughs, nudging open the door a little bit wider so that the man on the other side can get a better view at what exactly it is that’s caught his attention.

Nanami’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him. You’re only half-conscious sprawled across Suguru's bed, naked save for Choso’s unzipped hoodie wrapped around you. Your head rests against the aforementioned man’s chest as he quietly strokes your side, trying to get you to take a drink from the room temperature bottle of water in his hand– though you’re more preoccupied with playing with his long, elegant fingers wrapped around it.

“Hi Ken,” you giggle weakly as your head lolls in his direction, perking up at his unexpected appearance.

Choso sets the bottle aside on Geto’s bedside table and holds your waist carefully as you push yourself up, like he doesn’t quite trust the way your limbs wobble underneath you as you shuffle towards the end of the bed near the door. You lean towards the two men in the doorway on your hands and knees, the hoodie on your frame falling open.

Kento swallows, not sure where to look, and the tips of his ears go pink.

You sit back on your haunches, knees parted, and you feel the slow ooze of cum as it drips out onto Suguru’s stained bedspread between your legs. You smile at him dazedly, titling your head to the side so the imprint of Geto’s teeth are on full display on the side of your marked up throat.

“Is it your turn now?”

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